


Pass The Quarantinis

by allmystars



Series: Quarantine Shenanigans [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Annoyed Castiel (Supernatural), Annoying Dean Winchester, Best Friends, Castiel Is Tired Of Dean's Shit, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Bored, Dramatic Dean Winchester, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, Masterbation, Mutual Pining, Quarantine, Self-Isolation, Swearing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, accidental roommates, panic buying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmystars/pseuds/allmystars
Summary: “Fourteen days? Seriously, Cas? We have to self-quarantine for two weeks?”Castiel sighs, already regretting his decision to let Dean stay with him—he’d been about to leave, so close he practically had one foot out the door—but he’s got nowhere else to go besides his brother’s place in Paulo Alto, halfway across the country.***When the country is forced into quarantine, Dean and Castiel get stuck together for two weeks. Castiel regrets his kindness almost immediately.By the end of the two weeks, though?Who knows?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Quarantine Shenanigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710412
Comments: 71
Kudos: 511





	1. Panic At The Wholefoods

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! 
> 
> I wanted to write a roommates AU but then this whole self-isolation thing started happening and I thought QUARANTINED ROOMMATES! So then this happened and I love it.
> 
> I'll go back to my other WIPs now, but this was fun!
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe and healthy and at HOME if you're able.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

**Day 1**

“Fourteen days? Seriously, Cas? We have to self-quarantine for _two weeks_?”

Castiel sighs, already regretting his decision to let Dean stay with him—he’d been about to leave, so close he practically had one foot out the door—but he’s got nowhere else to go besides his brother’s place in Paulo Alto, halfway across the country.

“Just… calm down.”

Dean paces back and forth in front of the TV, hands on his hips and Castiel’s fuzzy, black and yellow bumblebee slippers slapping against his heels. “What am I supposed to do, huh? The eviction notice says twenty-four hours—they’ll throw out all my crap!” He stops, looking straight at Castiel with wide green eyes and a look of horror dawning on his face. “My record collection.”

Castiel can’t help but chuckle. “Dude, I think it’s fine to walk down the hall to get your stuff.”

“Yeah, but where do I put it all? I can’t afford storage, and there’s no way my dad’s gonna take it.” His pacing starts up again, the slipper-slapping going ten to the dozen.

Castiel pushes himself up and rounds the coffee table, stepping right into Dean’s path and throwing his hands up when Dean almost runs him over. “It’s _fine_. Stop worrying.”

“I can’t—Cas, I can’t. I think I’m having a heart attack. I’m gonna die.” He presses a hand to his chest and bends over double, panting hard.

“Panic attack. Not a heart attack,” Castiel corrects, though he wouldn’t be surprised with the amount of trans and saturated fats Dean eats on a daily basis. “Come on, you can bring it all here.”

“Really?” Dean pops his head up, his breathing back to normal in an instant, and Castiel rolls his eyes.

“ _Yes_.”

Dean knocks into his chest so fast he stumbles back, caught only by the arms around his torso.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Dean murmurs, squeezing the air from Castiel’s lungs as he sways back and forth.

Castiel chuckles, patting Dean’s back before pulling him off, though his cheeks burn and his stomach still flutters long after Dean’s stopped touching him.

“How ‘bout I go grab some groceries while you clear out your stuff?” Castiel slips on his shoes as he speaks, patting his pockets for his wallets and phone, but he stops when Dean doesn’t move, looking up to find him scowling at the floor.

“Can I do the shopping?” Dean whispers, wiggling his toes, and if Castiel rolls his eyes one more time, he’s going to strain himself.

“God, Dean, _why_?”

“Well, Baby needs gas,” he says, ticking items off on his fingers as he looks at the space above Castiel’s shoulder. “I’ve actually _got_ a car, unlike you—you really shouldn’t be on the bus if we’re supposed to be quarantined—and I like how you organize my stuff.” He ends the list with a shrug and a charming smile that he knows Castiel’s a sucker for.

“ _Fine_ ,” Castiel huffs, pulling his jacket off again and hanging it up on the tiny bee hooks Dean got him for Christmas in their third year of college.

“Awesome! Change shoes.” He steps out of the slippers and taps his toes as he waits for Castiel to unlace his shoes. “Jeez, Grandpa, the quarantine will be over by the time you get both shoes off.”

“Thin ice, Winchester,” Castiel growls, but Dean just shoots him a cheeky grin as he shoves his feet into the newly untied shoes and races out the door, not even bothering to lace them back up again.

Thankfully, there’s not much in the way of furniture in Dean’s apartment, so the only really big thing that needs moving is his bed, and even that is more of a fold-up couch on wheels.

So, by the time Dean gets back, Castiel’s got all his things stowed away in the spare bedroom, neatly organized with the record player in the living room and his clothes lined up in the closet.

Dean bursts through the front door just as Castiel flops into the corner of the couch, hauling more bags than should be possible and panting like he’s just run a marathon.

“Two trips are for the weak, huh?” Castiel says, not bothering to give him a hand.

He drops the bags by his feet, letting a jar of salsa roll into the kitchen as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “Cas,” he says, planting his hands on his knees and bending double.

Castiel shoots to his feet, actually concerned that his best friend really _is_ having a heart attack this time. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t be mad.”

Fuck.

“Twenty-two _cases_ of toilet paper? Goddamnit, Dean, I don’t have the space for this!” Castiel shoves his fingers through his hair, tugging at it as he stares of the mountains of groceries as Dean sinks into the corner of the living room. “Are you planning on having explosive diarrhea every day for the next two weeks?”

“I _panicked_ , Cas! They were all just so _grabby_.” He shudders, obviously reliving the horrors of his trip to the supermarket.

Castiel gives him a bland look. “You’re an idiot.”

“Get your damn feet off my coffee table,” Castiel snaps, kicking Dean’s ankle with his toe.

“What the hell, man? You’ve got your feet up.” Dean waves a hand to where Castiel’s ankles are now crossed on the polished wood beside a bowl of popcorn and a couple bottles of beer.

“My table; I can do what I want.” He tosses up a kernel and catches it perfectly on his tongue before glancing over at Dean with a grin as he chews.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, just start the movie.”

Dean grumbles as he snatches up the remote and presses play, leaning back as the Warner Brothers logo comes up. “Should’ve gone to Sammy’s.”

“What was that?” Castiel says, pretending not to have heard, but he raises an eyebrow with a smirk when Dean’s head pops up.

“What? Nothing, it was nothing.” He settles deeper into the cushions, his beer tucked close to his chest as he stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth, spilling it all down his front as Castiel rolls his eyes.

“That’s what I thought.”

**Day 2**

“Where do you keep the sugar?” Dean calls from the kitchen, and Castiel looks up from his laptop with a sigh.

“You bought six bags; it shouldn’t be that hard to find.” He turns back to his research paper on Pollin Diversity and Its Effect on Bees. He’s having trouble with his second source, but—

Dean pauses. “Yeah, but where do you keep it?”

“For fuck’s sake, Dean. Just _look_ ,” Castiel snaps, his temper rising by the minute with every banging door and clanging dish.

Castiel pushes his glasses back up his nose, trying to get his irritation under control as he finds the line he’d been reading before he was so rudely interrupted.

He gets about five minutes of peace.

Castiel’s just switching between documents when the rustling in the kitchen gets louder. He pauses, not yet looking up from his screen, but… waiting.

Then he hears it.

A thud, a poof, and a string of muttered curses.

He snaps his laptop shut and the cursing cuts off immediately. “For fuck’s sake, Dean,” he mumbles, not loud enough to be heard from the kitchen as he pushes up from the couch, his feet tucking into the confiscated bee slippers as he sets his computer down and shuffles to the other room. “Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake, Dean!”

Standing there, in the middle of his kitchen, is Dean fucking Winchester, covered from eyes to ass in a thick coating of flour, almost blending into his walls and cupboards, which faired no better.

“It slipped!” Dean says, eyes wide and hands out to his sides, and despite how ridiculous he looks, Castiel seethes. “The damn plastic coating on those things is atrocious!”

“Using big words doesn’t make you look like any less of an idiot.”

Dean huffs and looks away, his cheeks reddening under the powder, but he doesn’t try to argue Castiel’s point.

“Clean this shit up, Winchester.”

“You’re not going to help?” Dean looks at him with big green puppy-dog eyes, his full bottom lip pushing out in a pout. Castiel can see why Dean thinks that would work—it usually _does_ —but he’s got a paper to write.

“Nope,” he says, popping the _P_ as he spins on his heel and heads back to the living room. God, it’s going to be a long two weeks.


	2. Wiggle Your Worm

**Day 3**

“For the love of all that’s good in the world, _shut the fuck up_!” Castiel bangs on Dean’s bedroom door, shouting over the music that blares through speakers he _knows_ he hid in the hall closet. Can’t find the fucking sugar, but he can find _those_?

The music cuts off immediately, and a few seconds later, the door swings open. “Oh, hey, Cas,” Dean says, smiling wide as he pushes a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “What’s up?”

“Do you have _any_ idea what _time_ it is?” His jaw aches with how hard he’s clenching his teeth, but all Dean does is glance behind him.

“Uh, yeah, it’s six-thirty.” _Lord, give him strength_. Castiel closes his eyes and breathes deep, trying to contain his anger as Dean brushes past him. “Why, you got breakfast made?”

Castiel’s eyes snap open and he grabs the first thing he can get his hands on and whips it at the back of Dean’s head, getting him dead center.

“Did you just…” Dean turns, searching the floor for what hit him as he brings his hands to the back of his head. “Throw a pair of socks at me?”

“So what if I did?” Castiel quirks an eyebrow, his irritation mounting as he crosses his arms over his too-loose Star Wars tee—one he stole from Dean years ago.

“Well, that was rude—”

He doesn’t get the rest of the words out before Castiel tackles him to the floor, taking him down with a startled squeak.

“It’s… six… in the… morning,” he growls, struggling to pin Dean down as they roll across the floor, grappling with each other for the upper hand.

“It’s six- _thirty_!”

“Doesn’t matter; I was _sleeping_.”

Castiel’s on his back, his hips pinned between Dean’s knees as he slaps away his hands. He’s panting hard—they both are—and sweat glistens on Dean’s bare chest.

And now that he notices that Dean is, in fact, _shirtless_ , it’s all he can see.

His breath catches as Dean leans closer, his face set in hard, determined lines—teeth gritted and eyes focussed—and all Castiel can think of is all that flexing muscle and bare _skin._

Then his hands are by his ears, trapped by the wrists as he struggles, but Dean’s got him. He growls and twists and fights, trying to throw him off, and Dean just laughs.

“Still got it,” he murmurs, leaning closer with a triumphant smirk. “You gonna stop?”

“No,” Castiel spits, glaring up at the smug bastard as heat shoots through him. He hasn’t been this close to Dean in _years_ and suddenly, all the old feelings are right _there_ , waiting to be unleashed again.

Dean sighs, waiting him out as he tires, and eventually, Castiel slumps under him. “Can we talk like adults now?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s a no, then.” Dean puts more of his weight on him, getting comfortable, and Castiel’s lungs seize. He should stop this— _God_ , he should stop this—but he thinks if Dean gets off now, he might just jump off his balcony.

He blinks hard, trying—and failing—to ignore the leather-cherry smell of Dean’s skin, and the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, blowing little puffs of air into Castiel’s face. He can taste the salty tang of sweat on his tongue, and having Dean so close, knowing he can’t have him, is driving him _wild_.

Dean jerks, his eyes going wide as he looks down at Castiel, and he jumps off of him immediately, backing away as his entire body flushes.

 _Oh, fuck—oh no._ Castiel curls his knees up in a poor attempt to hide the obvious tent in his boxers. Every part of him burns with humiliation as Dean turns away, stuttering and stammering an excuse about needing a shower before practically sprinting for the bathroom.

“Fuck,” Castiel whispers, dropping his head to the hardwood floor on a groan. “Fuck _me_.” At this point, it’s _him_ who needs the first shower—a damn cold one, too.

**Day 4**

“Fuck,” Castiel moans, eyes closed and head tipped back. Pleasure arcs through him as he works a hand over himself, hidden under the covers and inside his boxers. He bites down on his bottom lip, trying to keep quiet as his breaths quicken and sweat slicks his heated skin.

God, he’s so close, thoughts of Dean on top of him, pinning him down—his chest heaving and his heavy-lidded green eyes dark with lust—stoking the fire inside him.

His free hand twists in the sheets as the other works faster, slick with pre-come. “Just… fuck—Dea—”

“Hey, Cas. Look, I made pan—holy fuck, I’m so sorry!”

Castiel lets out a squeak, pulling the blankets up to his nose as the door slams shut again. His heart thunders against his rib cage, humiliation and arousal pumping through his veins as adrenaline surges up to meet them.

Castiel lays there, frozen and breathing hard as he waits for Dean to come back in, but when he doesn’t, and Castiel’s still hard as a rock, he figures there’s no point in _not_ finishing.

He strokes his palm down his length, arching his back as his eyes fall shut and pleasure sings in his veins. Dean’s face comes to mind one more, his big green eyes and pouty lips lighting his insides as Castiel’s hand speeds up, gripping tighter as he whimpers.

Throwing the blanket aside at the last minute, he holds a tissue to his cock as he jerks and spasms, rocked by tremors as his orgasm rolls through him.

He can’t even remember the last time he came this hard, but he’d imagine it was the last time he got off to thoughts of his best friend’s perfect, pouty mouth wrapped around his cock.

He lies there for a while, staring up at the ceiling with his hand still wrapped around his softening erection as he tries to get his breathing under control.

Eventually, he pulls his hand from his boxers, wiping the come from his fingers with the tissue before tossing it in the bin beside his nightstand.

Only then does his humiliation hit him in full force. He pulls the blankets back up to his nose and squeezes his eyes shut as his stomach clenches, rolling with nausea.

Castiel peeks over when his door creaks open and Dean’s beet-red face looks in. “Breakfast?” he squeaks, holding up a tray as his shoulders push the door open some more.

Castiel sinks deeper into the mattress, closing his eyes as he flushes hotter.

“Oh, come on,” Dean says, closer now. “It’s not like that’s the first time I’ve walked in on you wiggling your worm.”

“ _Wiggling_ my _worm_? His eyebrows shoot up as the blanket falls to his chin, revealing a tiny smirk. “That’s a new one.”

“What can I say?” Dean shrugs, stepping up beside his bed and handing over the tray as Castiel sits up. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“Yeah,” Castiel huffs. He takes the tray and sets it on his lap, fully expecting Dean to leave now that he’s made his delivery. “Thanks.”

But he doesn’t leave.

He crawls in beside him.

“Move over, would you?” He nudges Castiel’s shoulder, trying to get some space against the pillows as he pulls back the blankets.

“Dean, what—” He shuffles over, too shocked to do anything but comply. “What’re you doing?”

“I dropped my plate off the balcony.”

“The _whole_ plate?”

“Yeah—hand over the fork.” Dean doesn’t wait, snatching up the fork and stuffing half a banana-chocolate-chip pancake in his mouth, smearing whipped cream all over his lips in a way that’s got Castiel’s blood heating.

“Wipe your face, would you?” Castiel huffs, holding up a napkin, but Dean just swipes his thumb over his lips before sticking it in his mouth and sucking the thick cream away.

Castiel swallows back the lump in his throat and takes his fork from Dean’s fingers. “You’re so fucking weird,” he tells Dean while thinking he’s well and truly _fucked_.


	3. Video Conference

**Day 5**

“Oh, yeah. Come on up.”

Castiel shoots up in his bed, listening hard. He couldn’t have heard that right. Surely, Dean hasn’t—

“Tenth floor. Yeah, number 1008.”

“You didn’t,” Castiel whispers as he pushes to his feet and pulls on his housecoat. “You fucking _didn’t_.”

“Really? I’m surprised they just let you up.” Castiel jerks his bedroom door open and barges through, just as someone knocks on his door.

“No!” Castiel shouts when Dean starts opening the door. He slams his hand into it, forcing it closed again before putting his back up against it as he glares at Dean.

“What the fuck, Cas?” He tries to reach around him for the handle, but Castiel slaps his hand away. He snorts, “Rude.” He tries again and Castiel just keeps slapping his hand. “Dude, _stop_.”

“No, Dean. _You_ stop!” He shoves Dean back, making him stumble as he re-locks and chains the door. “What the hell are you _doing_?”

“I’m _bored_. I invited Lisa over to keep me company, and I don’t really see how that’s any of your business.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his expression hardening as he narrows his eyes.

“Not my—” Castiel lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Dean, we’re in _quarantine_.” He steps forward, poking a finger into Dean’s chest as his eyes sharpen. “That means you don’t _get_ to have people over. And, yeah, that _is_ my fucking business.”

“But—”

“ _No_.” He points his finger right at Dean’s nose, so close he goes cross-eyed. “No, buts. We’re _isolating_ ourselves to keep from getting this goddamn virus, and if you let people _in_ , we could get _sick_.”

“But Lisa’s not—”

“I don’t _care_.” He spins on his heel and storms back to his room to get changed. “No visitors, Winchester. I mean it.” He shuts his door behind him with a bang.

“What’re you doing?” Castiel asks, leaning his shoulder into the wall as he crosses one ankle over the other and stares down at Dean, who lies, spread-eagled, in the middle of the living room.

He sighs long and high and refuses to look at Castiel.

“Dean.”

“Hmm…”

“You’re a child.”

“ _Hmm…_ ”

Castiel rolls his eyes and pushes away from the wall. He crosses the room until he’s standing right by Dean’s head. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m _bored_ ,” Dean whines, before letting out another high-pitched, drawn-out and dramatic sigh. “If only there were someone here to entertain me.” His eyes wander over the ceiling until they meet Castiel’s, before falling away again. Another sigh.

Castiel lets the air whoosh from his lungs as his shoulders slump. “Fine.” He turns away, heading for his room and the pingpong table he’d been keeping from Dean to save himself _that_ torment.

But now, he rolls it out, the sound of its wheels catching Dean’s attention as his head pops up. He grins, log-rolling out of the way when Castiel nudges him with the table. He pops up, snatching the paddles from their bag and waiting for Castiel as he folds the table down.

“You could help, you know?” Castiel snaps, jerking at the ends as he fights to get them into place on his own.

“Nah, you’re doing fine.”

Castiel flips him off over his shoulder as he pants for breath, and when the table is in place, he reaches into the ball bag, grabs a few, and spins around, whipping them at Dean’s head.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean ducks and dodges, wincing as he’s pelted with them. “Don’t gotta be a dick.”

“Didn’t have to just stand there and watch.”

“Oh, believe me, I did.”

Castiel ignores that, too busy staring at Dean’s ass as he gathers the balls from under the couch.

**Day 6**

“Hey, Cas. Wanna play some pong?”

Castiel doesn’t look up, ignoring Dean as he bounces a ball on his paddle. He hears it hit the floor a second later, bouncing away as Dean scrambles after it.

“Can’t. I’ve got a video conference.” He pushes his glasses further up his nose and clicks the link to the call a few more times, trying to get it to load faster.

“Boring,” Dean mutters and goes back to playing with his balls.

“Ha!” Castiel grins at the screen when it loads, watching as a grainy, distorted face pops up, waving frantically. “Hey, Bal!”

“Cassie, darling. How are you? Hannah, Anna, Inias, and Benjamin should be along soon.” Balthazar’s thick British accent flows over the speakers, filling the room and catching Dean’s attention.

“Fine, fine. Keeping inside with this virus going around.” Over his shoulder and in the tiny screen showing his face, a pair of green eyes and messy, light brown hair peeks in. Castiel whips around, glaring at Dean, who drops to the floor as soon as he’s caught.

“That your boyfriend?” Balthazar asks, raising an eyebrow with a tiny smirk.

“No,” Castiel says, still looking over his shoulder as Dean army-crawls back to the pingpong table. “My best friend, Dean—I told you about him.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me he’s so goddamn _delicious_.” Castiel stabs at the mute button, hitting every one around it before finally getting it right. The last thing he needs is for Dean to hear that and get any ideas.

Castiel digs through his laptop bag for his earbuds, plugging them in and making sure their working as Dean watches him from the other side of the room, bouncing the ball off the wall this time.

Four new windows pop up moments later, greeting Castiel with bright, smiling faces. He grins back, only now realizing how much he misses his coworkers after having no one but Dean to interact with for almost a week.

Don’t get him wrong, Dean’s his best friend and he loves the guy to death, but…

“Ow, fuck!” Dean shouts, and through the camera, Castiel can see him clutching his eye as he flails around, dropping the paddle and losing the balls in his fit.

“You good?” Castiel calls back to him, not bothering to turn around as he covers his microphone.

Dean freezes, glancing over at him with one hand covering his eye. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, I just—fuck!” He flinches, catching his leg on the table as he stumbles from the room. “It’s—I’m fine, yeah.”

Castiel chuckles under his breath as he watches Dean hobble his way to his bedroom.

“But the state of the pollinators is—”

“Need anything? A drink? Some cookies, maybe?” Dean peeks into the camera again for the third time in ten minutes, that ridiculous eyepatch making his coworkers burst into peels of laughter every time they see it. All it does is piss Castiel off.

“For fuck’s sake, Dean. For the last time— _no_.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, ducking his head and holding up his hands in surrender. “Just checking.” He walks out of the frame.

Castiel gives his coworkers a long-suffering smile and turns his sound back up. “As I was saying—”

“Maybe some fruity pebbles? Or mini Oreos?” Dean’s head pops back into the frame, and before Castiel can reign himself in, he’s on his feet, taking Dean by the collar of his shirt and hauling him in over the back of the couch.

“Leave me _alone_.”

They’re nose to nose, so close Castiel can see the flecks of gold in Dean’s uncovered eye and the blond tips of his overly long lashes.

“Okay, but I just—”

“Ugh!” Castiel shoves him away and snatches up his laptop before marching to his bedroom without a backward glance. He slams the door behind him, locking it with a definitive click.

Hours later, after Castiel’s calmed down a bit, he finally waves his coworkers off, wishing them goodnight and a happy quarantine.

He feels good—better than he had earlier that day—and maybe a little guilty for being so harsh with Dean. He should apologize, right?

But as soon as he plucks the earbuds from his ears, his stomach drops and all thoughts of apologizing fly out the window because through the, apparently, very _thin_ walls, come the sounds of Dean’s long, drawn-out, pleasure-filled moans.

And the distant crackle of a voice over speakerphone.

Castiel’s heart clenches, his gut twisting as he realizes exactly what Dean’s doing, and probably with that _Lisa_ what’s-her-name. Is that why he invited her over the other day? Is _this_ the entertainment he wanted? He really shouldn’t expect anything else, but it still hurts.

Jealousy floods him so fast and so strong that he doesn’t even think before pushing up from his bed. He hasn’t felt like this in years, and certainly not for Dean—not since college, anyway—but it drives him right out of his room and next door.

Without knocking, he flings Dean’s door open, not saying a word as he watches his best friend writhe in the middle of his bed, back arching and mouth parted wide on a moan. He doesn’t even seem to notice Castiel’s presence, and the tinny voice floating over the speakers just keeps talking, though it’s lower than he expects—deeper.

A fist squeezes his throat, choking him up as he stumbles from the room and back to his own. Tears well in his eyes as he rests back against his door, feeling the swell of sadness wash over him as he sinks to the floor. He closes his eyes, feeling the tears slip free as the first sob tears at his heart.

Why did he ever think things would be different between him and Dean? Why did he ever allow himself to hope?


	4. Pissy Pirates

**Day 7**

Castiel’s fingers fly across the keyboard, typing up his report in record time. He’s on a roll and he has been all night, throwing down words like nobody’s business. He hasn’t thought about walking in on Dean at all.

Okay, so that’s a lie.

It’s all he’s been thinking about, and the only thing keeping him from losing his mind or ripping Dean a new one is this report. So it’d be really fan-fucking-tastic if Dean would leave him alone and let him work.

As it stands, he’s whacking a ping pong ball off the wall beside his TV, only narrowly missing the flatscreen, and Castiel’s head, every time.

“So, when you're finished, you want to tell me what’s up?”

Castiel doesn’t so much as twitch—never faltering in his stream of thought as he types up his data report and enters it into the excel spreadsheet.

“No? Silent treatment then?” He sighs, hitting the ball with a little more force. “Fine, I can do silent. See how I care.”

Castiel huffs—that’s complete and utter bullshit if he’s ever heard it.

“What was that? You say something?”

He ignores him.

“Fine, if you won’t talk to me, I’ll entertain myself—”

“ _Fuck_!” Castiel shouts, covering his eye and flinching as the ball rockets into it. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” He snaps his laptop shut and shoves Dean to the side on his way to the kitchen for a cool compress.

“I—”

“Just… just don’t fucking talk to me.” His hands shake as he runs a cloth under the tap, making sure the water is cold before resting it against his eye, making sure not to put any pressure on it. He could _hit_ Dean right now—just fucking lay him out—and he wants to. _God_ , does he want to.

“Cas, I didn’t mean—”

Castiel whirls around, spitting mad as he grinds his teeth and clenches his fist. Dean flinches, his uncovered eye watching him with wary concern.

“What don’t you get about _shut up_? Seriously, are you deaf? You could’ve taken out my eye—do you really think I want to talk to you right now?”

Dean follows him out of the kitchen, trailing behind him like a disciplined puppy. “I just want to apologize—”

Castiel stops in his tracks, growling low in his throat when Dean runs into him. “Not everything is about _you_!” He spins back around to face Dean, ignoring the hurt in his eyes as years of pent-up anger and frustration swell up inside him. “I’m not here to _entertain_ you, and I sure as hell don’t want to have to hide in my fucking room every time I need to get some work done because you can’t be bothered to give me a few hours alone.”

“Come on, that’s not fair—”

“No, you know what’s not fair?” He drops the cloth from his swollen and stinging eye. “ _This_ isn’t fair. It’s not _fair_ that I can’t even work in my own home, to pay _my_ bills, because some over-grown _man-child_ can’t be bothered to take responsibility for his choices!”

Dean swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a small step back, his arms hanging limp at his sides as a blush creeps past the collar of his shirt.

“You got _evicted_ for God’s sake, Dean. You got evicted and have no place to go! You don’t even have a _job_.” He shoves a hand through his hair as adrenaline eggs him on.

He should stop, but now that it’s all coming out, he can’t, and he doesn’t really want to, even if the hurt in Dean’s eyes stings a little.

“And to top it all off, I offer you a place to stay and you fuck that up, too!” Dean opens his mouth to speak, but Castiel talks over him. “You’re so goddamn inconsiderate of everyone around you and you don’t even realize it because everyone’s too afraid to tell you. You just take what you want and fuck the consequences. Fuck everyone else, right?”

When Castiel’s finished, the silence stretches on between them, broken only by his heavy breaths and the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

Dean’s mouth opens and closes, over and over, and when he looks into Castiel’s eyes, the uncovered one shines with unshed tears.

“I—” he starts before he chokes on the word, swallowing hard as he ducks his head, and something in Castiel breaks. “Excuse me,” Dean whispers, his voice soft and hollow as he brushes past Castiel without another word.

Moments later, the spare bedroom’s door shuts, and seconds after that, there’s a soft thud as Dean hits his mattress. Castiel closes his eyes as guilt seeps in, drowning out the anger. He shouldn’t have said those things—sure, they were true, but Dean’s still his best friend. Just as soft-hearted and kind, if a little oblivious, as he’s always been.

“Fuck,” he whispers before scooping up his laptop and heading for his own room. He can’t apologize now—it’d be as good as saying he didn’t mean what he said, and he _did_ mean it. He’ll just talk to Dean tomorrow when they’ve both had time to calm down.


	5. Wakey Wakey, Eggs and Bakey

**Day 8**

Castiel cracks open the door to his room, peeking out, but the apartment is unusually quiet. He frowns, listening harder for any hint that Dean’s here at all.

“Huh.” He straightens up, opening the door the rest of the way and wandering out through the living room and into the kitchen. Empty. It’s… kind of nice.

Castiel smiles to himself, his feet warm inside his bumblebee slippers, and the Captain America t-shirt he’s sporting actually fits him—not one of Dean’s, who seems to have an affinity for over-large, baggy t-shirts.

Instead of dwelling on the silence, he lets it soothe him. Even a week without it feels too damn long, and he’d be lying if he said cooking breakfast without an obnoxious audience isn’t the best thing that’s happened to him all week.

“What’ve we got in here…” Castiel says, rooting through the ridiculous amounts of spray cheese and garlic stuffed olives for something with a little more substance.

Eventually, he finds Dean’s stash way at the back—thick-cut, double-smoked bacon. So, he fries some up for himself, secure in the belief that Dean’s too busy pouting in his room to investigate the smell, and pouches himself some eggs.

Just for _him_.

The crackle of grease makes him smile—back in college, it was the best way to get Dean up and out of bed in time for classes. Otherwise, they were both doomed to miss _at least_ the first half of their eight o’clock lecture, and as hard as he’d try, Castiel could never give Dean the silent treatment for long enough to make a difference.

Somehow, he finds himself frying the bacon just perfectly… for Dean. Annoyance curls in his gut, but he pushes it aside and smirks at the thought that it _is_ perfect for Dean, but he won’t be getting any.

Then he eats it right there on the kitchen floor, and damn it’s good. But…

But something’s missing. A great big, six-foot-one, adorable idiot, to be exact, and the silence suddenly feels a whole lot more lonely than it did before—not so comfortable.

Castiel lets out a sigh as he thumps his head back on the cupboard door. He needs to apologize—let Dean know he meant what he said, but that he’s sorry for how he said it.

But... Maybe he’ll make some cookies first—or cupcakes. Yeah, he’ll make cupcakes.

Castiel leans in close, peering through his good eye with a piping bag in hand and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he squeezes icing onto his final cupcake, swirling it just so to make the perfect, fluffy heart. He straightens up with a grin, looking down at the dozen cupcakes, decorated in green, blue, and sunshine yellow.

A gentle calm he only gets from decorating desserts seeps into his bones, leaving him light and happy. All the anger from the day before is gone—lost in the art of piping. He’s content, so much so that he might even share a cupcake with Dean. Just one, though—he’s still a dickhead.

Plucking one up from the tray—a yellow one with green eyes and a blue smile—he practically skips down the hall, ready to make his offer of peace.

“Dean?” he calls, tapping his knuckles against the frame. He waits, listening for movement from the other side, but there’s nothing. He knocks again, louder this time. “Dean, I want to talk.”

Nothing.

Castiel huffs, deciding that the risk of walking in on him _wiggling his worm_ as Dean put it, is fairly low, considering how _loud_ Dean was the other day, and pushes the door open to the dark room.

First panic, then anger surge inside him when he finds the room empty. No Dean to be found. The blankets on his couch-bed are kicked to the foot of the mattress, and clothes litter the floor like Dean’s never seen a hamper in his life, but most importantly, Dean’s _not here_.

“That motherfucker,” Castiel whispers,spinning on his heel and storming from the room. He shoves the cupcake in his mouth, not even tasting the cream-cheese frosting as it melts on his tongue.

He whips out his phone, dialing his number with shaking hands, but he can hear Dean’s ringtone from his room, and he chucks his phone across the kitchen.

“Fucking _idiot_.”

Two hours.

That’s how long Castiel sits on his couch, stress-eating his freshly baked and iced cupcakes, waiting for Dean to get back from God knows where.

His head snaps up when a key turns in the lock and the door creaks open. Castiel shoots to his feet, his arms crossing as he glares at the front door with his one good eye.

“Oh, hey,” Dean says when he steps in. He doesn’t smile, but at the same time, he doesn’t look all that guilty, either. “I was just—”

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” The anger explodes from his chest like a rocket—long gone is his baking calm. “What don’t you understand about _quarantine_? You don’t just get to go out, Dean!”

“Cas, I—”

“Who knows what kind of shit you’ve brought back—I shouldn’t even let you back in, honestly.” He shoves both hands through his hair, not caring that they’re smeared with icing. “What’s it going to take to get you to stop being so goddamn _selfish_?”

“I—”

“Fuck, sometimes I wonder if you think of anyone at all, or if you just don’t give a shit.” Castiel shakes his head, too angry to acknowledge the hurt in Dean’s eyes.

Dean opens his mouth to speak again, but Castiel holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“I was going to apologize for how I spoke yesterday, but it seems you didn’t hear any of it in the first place, so…” He shrugs, backing down the hallway before spinning around.

He needs a shower to get all this crap out of his hair, and his eye fucking hurts, which is Dean’s fault, too. Everything’s been going to shit in the last week, and Dean’s the problem, obviously, so he needs to go.

**Day 9**

Castiel didn’t sleep.

He’s been up all night regretting every word from the days before. Dean’s his best friend, and yeah, he’s pissed about the inconsiderate behavior, but he’d be lying if he said that’s all this was about.

He loves Dean.

He’s _in_ love with Dean, and he always has been.

But Dean’s not interested, which has been made _abundantly_ clear for years. Every offer of a birthday dinner, or a spare room, or even _hug_ at their graduation has been turned down. Castiel’s sure Dean’s aware of his crush—how can he _not_ be?—but it doesn’t make it any less painful to see him moving on with his life.

And, honestly? He’s not sure if he wants their quarantine to end or not. He’s been a royal _asshole_ to Dean—he can admit that—but Dean won’t just be moving out, he’ll be moving _on_ , and Castiel hasn’t got a _clue_ where that’ll be. Across the city? Or the state? Or would be pack up and move out to California to be with his brother?

The ache in his chest grows wider with every second and he’s not sure how much more of it he can take.

With a heavy sigh and the weight of his feelings for Dean crushing him, he rolls out of bed. He needs to make this right before he loses his best friend forever—even if all they’ll ever _be_ is best friends.

Castiel steps into the hallway before he can talk himself out of it, and he blames his shitty eye for running smack into Dean.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry, Cas,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he steadies Castiel with the other. He’s still got that stupid fucking eyepatch on, covering his left eye.

“It’s—it’s fine, I actually—”

“I wanted to talk—”

“No, you go—”

“What’s up?” Dean finishes with a half-hearted grin. He lets his hand linger on Castiel’s shoulder for a moment before it falls away.

“You first,” Castiel tells him.

Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods. “I want to explain,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants as he looks down at his bare feet. “Where I was yesterday.”

“Okay…”

“Can we sit?”

Castiel nods to the living room before following Dean to the couch where they flop into opposite corners, just barely turned to face each other.

“What you said the other day…” He looks up at Castiel as he trails off, his one eye wide and a little uncertain, and guilt surges inside Castiel. “It—I took it to heart—”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Dean says, holding up a hand. “No, you should have. You should’ve said it a long time ago.”

Castiel settles deeper into the cushions, deciding it’s best just to keep his mouth shut for now.

“I’m selfish and irresponsible—I know that—but hearing it from you…” He shakes his head. “It hurt, you know? And it made me want to do better.”

“So, yesterday…”

“Yeah, so I was looking online and reading about toilet paper shortages, and I got to feeling pretty shitty about, uh… you know.” He shrugs, a sheepish little smile on his lips. “So, I left a few rolls at everyone’s door.”

Castiel just blinks, staring at Dean for a moment as he waits for more. “You just… left them toilet paper?”

“Well, a note, too. I wasn’t about to knock and risk getting all germy.”

“God, you’re an idiot,” Castiel says, but he’s fighting back a smile. “A complete, and utter weirdo.”

“You love me,” Dean says with a confident smile, back to his old self in an instant as he shoves up from the couch and steals Castiel’s bumblebee slippers from under the coffee table.

“Whatever.” Castiel waves him off as he stands, too. “Just let me apologize without making a big deal about it, yeah?”

A wicked grin spreads across Dean’s face when he hears the word _apologize._ “ _What_? The great and righteous _Castiel Novak_ is going to apologize? And to _me_?”

Castiel rolls his eyes at the ridiculous voice and swats Dean’s hand away from where he’s resting it against his own chest. “Shut up, you dick.” He grins wider before sobering again. “I really do want to apologize, though. I was mean and too quick to judge, and I’m sorry for that.”

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s got two arms full of Dean Winchester, smelling like the best kind of sweaty and so warm he could soak into his heat forever.

Castiel wraps him up in a hug, feeling Dean’s arms squeeze a little tighter when he does and tries to fight back the emotion that wells up inside him. Dean hugs are so rare—for him, at least—but they’re his favorite thing in the entire world.

When Dean pulls back, it’s with a bright smile. “So,” he says, dancing away in Castiel’s slippers and that stupid eyepatch. “Breakfast dance party?”

Castiel sighs, pretending to be put out as he drops his shoulders and tilts his face to the ceiling. “If we must.”

Dean’s grin turns wicked as he backs away, swaying his hips as he reaches the record player in the corner. “Oh, we must.”


	6. TP Tower

**Day 10**

“I thought you gave out all the TP?”

“Huh?” Dean says, poking his head out the top of a _literal_ TP castle in the making. “What? No, I said I gave a few rolls to every apartment. There’s tons more than that.” He ducks back down, disappearing again.

“So, you’re making a fort?” Castiel raises an eyebrow, smirking as he watches a hand reach up and place a new roll.

“Yessir.”

“In the middle of my living room?”

“That’s right.”

“And you didn’t invite me?”

“What?” Dean’s head pokes out again, confusion shining in his single uncovered eye. “You want in?”

“‘Course I do. Hold this.” He hands Dean his coffee before getting down on his hands and knees and crawling through the little tunnel. The inside of the fort is a bit cramped, what with two grown men and piles and piles of TP, but it’s coming along nicely.

“Look, this is the fun space,” Dean says, gesturing to where they’re kneeling. “And that’s a place for food.” He points to the back corner where he’s got a plate of chocolate chip cookies sitting beside a glass of milk. “I’m doing the bedroom over there.” He waves in the direction of the balcony door. “And the bathroom is—”

“ _No_ ,” Castiel says, shaking his head. “No bathroom—you get out and use the modern plumbing I pay for, or you hold it until you die.”

“Aw,” Dean whines under his breath, but drops his pointing finger and refocusses on building up the walls.

They work for a while, eating the cookies Dean baked—apparently while Castiel was still asleep—and sharing the glass of milk. It’s nice, and Castiel almost wishes they could do this more often—he hadn’t realized just how _little_ he sees of Dean, now that they’re out of college, and he missed him.

“So, I was thinking maybe I could borrow your laptop?”

Castiel glancing up from his cookie to find Dean stacking more rolls, refusing to look at him as he speaks.

“If it’s for porn, that’ll be a _hell_ no.”

Dean laughs, his whole face lighting up as he scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. “No, I’ve got my phone for that,” he says, winking his good eye at him. “I, uh… I want to start looking for my own place. You know, for when we’re finished with this whole _self-quarantine_ thing.”

“Really?”

“Uh, yeah—figure you don’t want me here forever, right?” He chuckles, picking up the last cookie and breaking it in half before passing Castiel one side.

“Yeah,” Castiel says, huffing a laugh, but his gut gives a sick twist as his smile falters. “Yeah, you can borrow it.”

He wants to take it back as soon as the words leave his mouth. He wants to yell and scream and tell Dean to just _stay_ , but he lets his heart ache with the unspoken words, instead, and forces a smile.

“I’ve got some work to do later, but you can borrow it tomorrow if you’d like.”

“So,” Dean says, popping his head out of the last, tiny hole at the top of the TP castle. “Sleepover or what?”

Castiel grins as he tosses his notes aside. His eye is aching anyway, and it’s almost impossible to read anything even _with_ his glasses on.

The sun has set behind the buildings and in the dimness of the apartment—the only light coming from the soft glow of the bulb over the oven—it feels almost _cosy_.

“You make the nachos and I’ll grab some blankets,” he says to Dean, who grins and drops back through the hole before reappearing out the exit tunnel.

“Deal.”

They head in opposite directions, Dean going for the kitchen as Castiel makes his way to the hall closet.

“Grab your comforter, would you?” Dean calls after him. “It’s comfy.”

Castiel rolls his eyes but continues past the closet to his room. He drags the thick blanket off, rolling it, and the few throw-blankets stashed in the corner, up in his arms before deciding they need some pillows and grabbing those too.

With his arms full, he heads back to the living room and starts the difficult task of getting the blankets through the tunnel without toppling the whole thing.

It’s a process, but he gets everything set up without any mishaps, and when Dean crawls through with a steaming tray of buffalo chicken nachos, he can already tell it’s going to be one hell of a night.

“You think you’re going to win?” Dean raises an eyebrow as Castiel smirks, looking at his pair of aces as he sucks on the last of Dean’s stash of Halloween candy.

“Never said that.” He pulls the sucker from between his lips with a pop, grinning. “Just said you’re going to lose.”

“Fine. I’ll see your three Oreos…” He places the bet in the middle of their snack plate. “And raise you… _six_ sour cherry blasters, _and_ my last Reese’s peanut butter cup.”

Castiel nods, pretending to think about it, before sliding over his new bet. “Show me the goods, Winchester,” he says, just barely holding back a smirk.

Dean slaps down his cards, and Castiel will admit, they’re not bad—the king of hearts and queen of clubs—but Castiel’s are better and he watches as Dean’s smile falls as he lays down his aces.

“No way,” Dean whispers, leaning closer with his good eye. “No way! You fucking cheated!” He tosses the cards at Castiel’s head.

Castiel ducks, shielding his eye from sharp corners, and tries to hide his grin—yeah, he fucking cheated, but Dean should’ve expected it.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, plucking up the peanut butter cup and raising it to his lips. He watches Dean closely, taunting him as he sets it between his teeth. Dean pouts, his bottom lip sticking so far out it’s almost comical. Castiel bites down, taking half of it in his mouth, before holding the other half out for Dean.

“Really?” His face lights up when Castiel nods, but instead of taking it from Castiel’s fingers, he opens his mouth, stretching forward for Castiel to pop it in.

He does—his heart racing when his fingertips just barely brush Dean’s lips—and pulls his hand away as fast as possible, breaking eye contact by looking down at his winnings.

“Done?” he croaks, collecting the cards as Dean nods, oblivious to the rioting emotions inside Castiel at that moment.

“Kind of tired,” Dean tells him, setting aside the plate. “We’re sleeping here, right?”

“That’s the point of a sleepover, Dean.” Castiel grins as he pulls a throw-blanket around his shoulders, settling in with his head on a pillow right by Dean’s.

“Shut up, dickhead. Just wasn’t sure if you’d changed your mind.” Dean stretches out to turn off the camp light, plunging their little castle into darkness.

“Why?” Castiel whispers. He stares at the dark space in front of him, knowing there’s a wall of TP there, but not able to actually see it.

“Don’t know.” He hears the rustle of the blankets as Dean shrugs. “You used to cancel sleepovers all the time—just wondering if this one would be the same.”

Castiel’s heart clenches. He’d done that because of his stupid little crush, never wanting to read the signs wrong and embarrass them both—so he’d cancel, or go home, right before there was any actual _sleeping_.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel whispers instead. He doesn’t want to talk about that—doesn’t want to have to answer the unspoken question.

Dean lets out a heavy sigh, his voice thick with disappointment when he speaks. “Night, Cas.”

**Day 11**

Castiel bends closer to his notes, squinting to see past the blurring in his right eye, but it’s useless. He’ll have to make an appointment with his optometrist when this is over for sure.

“Dean?” he calls, looking over his shoulder at the ever-expanding TP Tower, as Dean’s taken to calling it.

“Yeah?” He pops his head out through a side window.

“You got any more of those eyepatches?”

A wide grin spreads Dean’s cheeks before he disappears inside, remerging seconds later through the tunnel.

“Was wondering when you’d ask.” He hurries down the hall to his room. “Good thing you got it in the right eye, though, ‘cause I’ve only got that one left.”

“Yeah—good thing,” he says, though not loud enough for Dean to hear, and rolls his good eye.

“We’ll be twins, you and I—swashbuckling pirates in out TP Tower!” He tosses the other eyepatch into Castiel’s lap before getting down on his hands and knees to crawl through the tunnel.

“You’re so fucking weird,” Castiel mumbles but pulls on his eyepatch.

“What’s that?”

“I said, _you’re so fucking weird_!” Castiel shouts, grinning when Dean huffs. “Thanks for the eyepatch.”

“You’re a dick.” Dean ducks behind the wall as Castiel gets back to trying to read his notes. The patch is still annoying, but it’s better than nothing.

“You love me.”

“I’m done with my laptop if you want to look for a new apartment now.”

Dean looks up from where he’s lying on the floor in the TP Tower, fiddling with the deck of cards they left in there the night before.

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” He smiles at Castiel and reaches through the tunnel to take it from his hands. “Oh, look.” He turns around, reaching for something in another ‘room’ of the fort. “I made more nachos and there’s some bacon-wrapped snacks on the counter if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” Castiel says, taking the nachos from Dean’s hand before straightening up. “You’re the best, Winchester.”

“I know!” Dean calls from the Castle, and Castiel smiles.


	7. Pirate Pool Party

**Day 12**

Castiel turns off the vacuum and stows it back in the hall closet. It’s been a while since he’s cleaned, and it’s nice to have the place smelling fresh again. Dean’s got a load of laundry in, so the whir of the washing machine is a constant soundtrack to their otherwise boring afternoon.

Dean won’t come out of the fort.

He’s been in there since breakfast, having snatched up Castiel’s laptop to continue his house-hunting. Castiel tries not to let it bother him, but he’d be lying if he said Dean’s eagerness to leave doesn’t hurt. He’ll miss his best friend when he’s gone, no matter how stressful it’s been having him here.

After Castiel’s finished all the cleaning he can do, he can’t take the quiet anymore and gets down on his hands and knees to crawl into the fort.

“Hey,” he says, smiling up at Dean when he looks away from the screen. Dean scoots back, giving Castiel room to get all the way inside.

“What’s up?”

Castiel sits cross-legged in front of Dean, twisting the blanket between his fingers as Dean taps away at the keyboard. “Just quiet out there.”

Dean nods, not really paying attention as the glow of the screen lights up his face. He’s still got the eyepatch on, as does Castiel, but the baggy AC/DC t-shirt Castiel stole from him years ago, and the loose sweatpants make the whole thing ridiculously attractive.

Not that Dean isn’t attractive in literally _everything_.

“What’s that?” Castiel points to a pad of paper and a pen resting by Dean’s hip.

“What?” Dean glances up, sees where Castiel’s pointing, and grins. “Oh, this?” He picks it up and hands it over. “A list of numbers to call. Look, I can show you the apartments—some of them are pretty sweet.” He clicks a few times before flipping the computer around to show Castiel.

It’s a bachelor apartment—fully furnished and up on the seventh floor with a nice view of the lake. Castiel’s heart clenches—there aren’t any lakes near them.

“Where’s this?” he asks, trying to sound as unbothered as he should and failing miserably.

“Uh, couple towns over, I think. Few hours' drive.” Castiel nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he clicks through the pictures. “It’s got indoor parking for Baby, and there’s a mechanic’s shop just down the road, so that’s great. I’m going to apply there right after I call the lady—see if I can kill two birds with one stone.”

“Cool.”

Castiel hands the laptop back, trying to smile as the ache grows. _Come on, it’s not the time—not the time_. He can worry about it later—right now, he needs to be happy for his friend.

“Yeah, and there’s this one.” A one-bedroom flat with a gym. “It’s pretty great, and only an hour away.” Castiel nods when Dean shows him, but he hardly looks. “There’s a country bar just down the road, too.” He shoots him a wicked grin.

“Anything in the city?” It’s a long shot—the city is damn expensive, but fuck, he needs to ask.

Dean studies him for a moment, his eye reflecting the one-bedroom flat, but it disappears instantly as Dean shuts the screen. “Too expensive. Besides, you know no one’s hiring here.”

Castiel nods as Dean sets the laptop aside. He does know that, but it doesn’t mean he hadn’t hoped.

They’d been going over it for months, ever since Dean was let go from his last job. Every day, they’d scour the internet, looking for local jobs Dean could pick up, and every night, Castiel would go to bed praying that something would present itself so Dean wouldn’t have to leave.

Every morning, he’d be disappointed and they’d start all over again.

“You know what I’ll miss the most?” Dean says, looking up at the walls of his TP Tower as he leans back on his hands.

“What’s that?”

“The pool,” he sighs, and it’s such a straightforward answer, no sarcasm at all, that it hits Castiel hard, and he has to fight to keep the hurt from showing on his face. He knows Dean’s going to miss him—he _knows_ that—but less than the damn swimming pool?

“That right?”

“Loved hanging out there in the summer, you know?” He grins, shooting a wink at Castiel that’s almost impossible to decipher from a one-eyed blink. “The view was always so _nice_.”

**Day 13**

The sun still hasn’t topped the trees as Castiel does his best to take apart the TP Tower without making a sound.

Dean’s a deep sleeper—worse than anyone Castiel’s ever met—but he still winces every time he steps on a creaking floorboard, his head whipping around to make sure Dean’s not about to waltz into the living room and ruin the surprise.

Once the toilet paper is all packed up in its boxes, Castiel lays out the towels, covering every square inch of open floor as his heart pounds in his chest. It’s got to be getting up on seven o’clock, and Dean might not be a _light_ sleeper, but he _is_ a morning person, and Castiel would say he’s probably got no more than forty-five minutes to finish up before Dean comes out looking for breakfast.

Castiel works faster, pulling out the brand-new, never used, big ol’ blow-up pool he bought on an existential crisis whim last year at the hardware store down the road. It’s got to be at least ten feet long and a good six feet wide. He would definitely drown in the thing if he were drunk, but it comes up to his hips, otherwise, and it would probably flood the entire apartment if it got a hole in it.

Castiel blows it up with his balloon pump before running a hose from the kitchen sink to the living room. Now all he needs to do is wait.

“Hey, Cas, why do I hear running water—holy shit, where’s my TP Tower?” His eye goes wide when he sees it’s gone, but then he looks down at the pool and his jaw drops. “Holy shit, what are you doing?”

Castiel grins as an excited little shiver runs through him. “You said you’d miss the pool most, so…” He gestures at the poor, half-full substitute. “I brought it to you!”

Dean doesn’t say anything—his eye still wide as he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then— “God, I fucking love you.”

Castiel’s heart drops, then stops, before sputtering into high gear as the smile falls from his face. “What?”

For a moment, it doesn’t look like Dean realizes what he said, but when he does, horror washes over him and he waves his hands in front of him like he’s trying to swat the words away. “No! No, not like that!” He forces an awkward laugh. “No, I love you, you know, like a friend.”

It’s like a punch to the gut—digging in with sharp nails before wrenching out his innards—but he laughs it off. He should know better than to make that kind of mistake anymore—he should know better than to _hope_.

“Okay, well… uh, I’m going to make some snacks.” Then he’s gone, hidden away in the kitchen and banging around in the cupboards as Castiel struggles to pull himself together, trying to convince himself that it doesn’t matter.

Dean’s said _I love you_ a million times—Castiel hears it almost weekly—but no matter how often the words trip from his tongue, they never carry the weight Castiel wants them to.

Dean’s _I love you_ doesn’t mean the same thing as Castiel’s and it never will.

“Better break that speedo out of retirement because this is about to get _wild_!” Dean says as he sways his hips—a martini glass in one hand and a platter of chips and dip in the other.

Castiel rolls his eyes—he is _not_ breaking out the speedo—and plugs the floaty. “You drunk already?” It’s only about ten o’clock in the morning, but time means nothing in quarantine.

“Insulted,” Dean says, but grins around the rim of his martini glass. “You done yet?” He nods to the last of the floaties. It’s not a big pool by any means, but they’re doing this right, which means Dean’s blazing orange, two-seater floaty with cupholders and backrests, along with various other blow-up things.

“That’s it.”

Dean sets the chips on the floor and hands the martini to Castiel. “Drink that,” he shouts before taking off down the hall at a run. “I’m getting changed!”

Castiel rolls his eyes but tosses the drink back anyway, grimacing as it burns down his throat. He pushes up from the floor and doesn’t bother waiting until he’s in his room before he starts stripping, peeling off his shirt on the way and unknotting the string of his pajama pants halfway down the hall.

Castiel digs through his drawers, bypassing the speedo that he absolutely is _not_ wearing, and pulls out an old pair of faded board shorts. They’ll have to do.

“Oh, come on!” Dean cries when Castiel steps into the living room. “I was looking forward to the speedo. Your ass looks so great in it.”

Castiel narrows his eyes as he steps into the pool, sucking in a sharp breath when the frigid water hits his skin. “My ass looks great in everything.”

“True,” Dean says, nodding as he places a tiny plastic table in the pool and sets the snacks on it.

Castiel decides to put his words down to the alcohol—there’s no way Dean actually checks out his ass enough to know if it looks good or not.

When they’re both settled in the floaty, drinks in hand and a pitcher on standby—outside the pool since Dean’s second glass ended up in his lap—Castiel finally lets himself relax.

“This is nice,” he says, holding his glass up for Dean to cheers.

“Just a couple of pirates chillin’ on a floaty—nothing to see here, ladies.”

“You’re so fucking weird.” Castiel laughs, taking a sip of his martini before swirling the garlic-stuffed olive around with his finger.

“You love me,” Dean says with a sigh, tilting his head back to the ceiling and closing his eyes. Castiel doesn’t even let that get to him right now—he _does_ love Dean, and that’s okay.

“How’s the job search going?” Castiel asks after a while, tired of the silence as he pulls the snack table closer.

“Fine,” Dean says, not bothering to open his eyes. Castiel takes the opportunity to let his gaze linger over Dean’s smooth, muscled chest and soft tummy—God, that man loves his snacks. His hair is slicked back and he looks so relaxed compared to his usual high-energy self, it’s almost like he’s been sedated. It’s nice to see.

“Anything new?”

He blinks his eyes open, the uncovered one turning to Castiel for a moment before sliding away. “There, uh…” He takes a gulp of his martini, accidentally draining it in one go. “There’s this shop—just opened up on Grangeway Street, down by the old mill—that I applied to. Haven’t heard back yet, but we’ll see.” He shrugs, trying to play it off, but excitement surges so fast and so hard inside Castiel that he almost leaps from the floaty, a tipsy little grin stretching his cheeks.

“Really? You’re really gonna stay?” Could this day get any better?

“Hold your goat, Cas—haven’t got the job yet.” But he’s smiling, and that’s better than nothing. “Beside’s, I still don’t have a place, and rent is _still_ expensive.” Castiel isn’t listening anymore, though—too busy picturing Dean staying right where he is. “Pass the quarantinis, would you?”

“The what?” Castiel arches an eyebrow, smirking at the name as Dean waves a hand at him.

“The _quarantinis_ , Cas _._ Come on! I’m thirsty.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” Castiel says, smiling with every word as he passes the pitcher over.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but you love me.” 


	8. Love Him Out Loud

**Day 14**

“In the morning, Cas.”

“In the morning?”

“Yeah, we’ll empty the pool in the morning.”

“That’s a good idea.” Castiel holds onto Dean’s arm as they stumble their way through the living room. It’s well after midnight and Castiel’s feet ache from being in the water for so long, but the alcohol flowing through his veins has him numbed quite nicely.

“Full of those, you know?” Dean says, and Castiel leans into him, feeling the solid weight of Dean’s body when they stop by the edge of the toweled floor. “You’ll kill me in the morning if we track water through the apartment. Come here.” He spins Castiel around to face him.

Castiel laughs like that’s the most ridiculous thought in the world. Kill Dean? Never. “Wouldn’t do that.” He brings both hands up to cup Dean’s cheeks, squishing them together as he smiles.

Dean rolls his eyes as he drops a towel over Castiel’s head, rubbing it through his hair as Castiel leans into the touch, not bothering to stifle a soft moan.

“Feels good?” Dean chuckles, his smile softening when Castiel nods. He’s not sure how he managed it, but he finished more than half the pitcher, getting steadily more drunk as the night went on and as he tried to forget that soon, Dean wouldn’t be around anymore.

“You’re so good to me,” Castiel whispers as Dean tosses the towel aside and throws an arm around his neck.

“Me? You gave me a place to stay, _and_ a pool party.” Dean tugs him a little closer. “Doesn’t get much better than that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Castiel says as he rolls his eyes. Dean’s his best friend—what else was he supposed to do?

“You love me.”

Castiel stops, and Dean’s arm slips from his shoulders.

Yes. Yes, he _does_ love Dean. He loves him a lot—like, _a lot_ , a lot. And he should tell him, right? If he loves him, he should _tell_ him.

“I do.”

Dean turns around, his uncovered eye watching Castiel with more than a little confusion as he tilts his head to one side. “You what?”

“I do. I love you.”

A grin tugs at the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Come on, Cas—time to get you to bed.” He reaches for Castiel’s wrist, but he tugs it away as a rock drops into his stomach.

“ _No_ , Dean. I _love_ you, and not just like a friend.” His heart quakes when all Dean does is scowl, but he pushes on. “I’ve loved you _forever_ , and I don’t _want_ you to leave.” He doesn’t even notice himself choking up until his words cut out and he struggles to swallow past the lump in his throat. “And I’m not _that_ drunk—I know what I’m saying and I _know_ I love you.”

It’s like he’s frozen—unable to move as he stares Castiel down. He doesn’t twitch or blink or speak for what feels like hours, but when he does, it’s barely a whisper of air between his lips.

“Cas.”

Then his mouth is on Castiel’s, kissing him with bruising strength as his back hits the closet door. He hisses when the doorknob digs into his ribs, but the pain is forgotten in an instant as Dean drags him closer, licking and sucking and biting his lips like if he doesn’t, he’ll _die_.

They stumble into Dean’s room, tripping over dirty clothes as Dean tugs at Castiel’s swim shorts, trying to get them down but having no luck.

“Fucking _pants_ ,” he mumbles, pausing for a moment to look at what he’s dealing with, and he huffs when he sees that Castiel has them tied in a neat little bow. “Fucking weirdo.”

“You love me,” Castiel says, almost without a thought, but when Dean’s hands freeze on the string, he cringes. “I’m sorry—”

“No.” He pulls Castiel closer, cupping his cheeks in big, strong hands and making Castiel meet his eyes. “No, Cas, I _do_. I love you, and I… I _have_ loved you, you know, forever.”

“You mean it?” Castiel whispers, not daring to hope that they _both_ were just the most oblivious idiots—that Dean actually _has_ loved him, in the same way, all this time.

“Sleepovers and movies, Cas. Pool parties and skinny dipping—fuck I climbed into _bed_ with you after walking in on you jacking off minutes earlier. I just never thought you—”

“Shut up,” Castiel says, and cuts Dean’s words off with his lips. “Just shut up.” He shoves Dean backward, following close as they stumble to the bed. Dean falls back when Castiel nudges him, and they land with a grunt in the messy sheets.

“My pants are wet,” Dean murmurs between kisses, still tugging at Castiel’s shorts.

“Take them off.”

“I’m _trying_.”

Castiel huffs, pulling away only long enough to undo his own board shorts and slip them down his legs before peeling Dean’s off as well and tossing them in the corner.

He lowers himself back over Dean as they make their way to the center of the bed. Dean’s skin is cool against his own, still wet from the pool, but he presses closer, soaking in the feeling of every inch if himself against every inch of Dean.

“That eyepatch is ridiculous,” Castiel murmurs, moving his lips back to Dean’s and kissing him long and deep.He soaks in the feeling of a smile against his own before kissing his way along Dean’s stubbly cheek, over his jaw, and down his neck.

“I don’t know... you’re like a sexy pirate.”

“You got a pirate kink?” Castiel nips at the spot where the curve of Dean’s neck meets his shoulder, sucking a hickey into the pale skin.

“Nah, it’s a Cas kink.” He’s cut off by a moan, arching his hips into Castiel’s and rubbing his thick cock against Castiel’s thigh.

“Hmm,” Castiel hums, smiling when fingers dig into his hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. “Never heard of that one before.” He grinds down into Dean, who whimpers and pants as his eyes fall shut.

“New thing—just for me. Oh, _fuck…_ ”

Castiel grips Dean’s cock in a tight fist, stroking in a smooth, even rhythm as Dean’s breaths stutter from his chest. Castiel uses his other hand to trace the lines of Dean’s pecs, running a fingertip around each nipple before giving it a soft flick, eliciting a breathy moan each time.

“Sensitive?”

“Please, Cas… please fuck me?” Dean’s clamps down on his bottom lip, and just the sight of his best friend lost to his pleasure, and knowing he’s the one to give it to him, is enough to have Castiel hard as a rock and leaking pre-come all over Dean’s hip.

Castiel pulls away, sitting up on his knees as Dean’s eyes fly open. “Condom? Lube?” Dean points to the duffle bag beside his bed.

“Front pocket.”

Castiel digs it out, tossing the condom onto Dean’s tummy as he squeezes the lube out on his fingers and warms it up before slapping at Dean’s inner thigh to get him to spread ‘em wide.

“You ever done this before?” he asks, meeting Dean’s eyes as he circles a finger around Dean’s hole.

Dean shakes his head. “Not… not _fully_. Couple guys got their fingers in, but…” He trails off, looking up at Castiel with trepidation clear in his eyes. “No, I haven’t done it.”

“Okay,” Castiel whispers, offering him a reassuring smile as he puts Dean’s knees in a better position—bending them up for better access. “I’ll be gentle—just tell me if it hurts.”

Dean nods, taking deep, calming breaths as he holds his knees up and apart. “I trust you.”

Castiel’s heart warms at the words, and he can feel the love he has for Dean swelling inside him as he stares into those beautiful green eyes he knows so well. “I know you do.”

Dean gasps as Castiel rubs a finger over his puckered hole, spreading the lube and testing the resistance as he watches for any signs of discomfort. He works his finger in and out, pushing it the tiniest bit further with every thrust, leaving Dean a gasping, whimpering mess of pleasure and nerves above him.

It’s so fucking hot that Castiel doesn’t dare to touch himself, already feeling pleasure zipping down his spine as he adds another finger.

Dean winces, obviously feeling the burn, and Castiel pauses, waiting for him to adjust before he continues.

“Good?” he whispers, making sure to meet Dean’s eyes as he asks. He pushes up on Dean’s knee, making sure it stays spread as he thrusts his fingers in harder, scissoring them until he finds just… the right… spot.

Dean cries out, arching his back and pressing his head deeper into the pillows as he tries to stretch out his legs, but Castiel holds him still, adding a third finger as Dean whimpers and writhes beneath him.

“Please, Cas, _please_. Oh God, _please_ just _fuck_ me already.” Castiel chuckles as he pulls his fingers out, relishing in the breathy moan that falls from Dean’s lips. He looks so drugged out on pleasure, it’s hard to imagine he could ever look any better.

Castiel rolls on the condom, slicking it with more lube as Dean wiggles around, impatient for his cock.

“Gonna be uncomfortable, Dean. Tell me if it hurts.” Castiel shifts so that he’s on his knees between Dean’s spread thighs, one hand gripping his throbbing cock as the other holds Dean’s legs apart.

“Just hurry up,” Dean whines, closing his uncovered eye, and Castiel doesn’t wait to be told again as he presses the blunt head against Dean’s stretched hole.

Castiel pushes forward, slow and controlled, but he shakes with need. His mouth falls open as he closes his eyes, drowned by the tight, hot pleasure of his best friend’s ass.

“Holy _fuck_ , Cas—fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” Dean shoves a hand through Castiel’s hair gripping hard as, with one last, even push, he bottoms out, buried to his balls in Dean’s hole.

“You good?” Castiel asks, sinking his face into Dean’s neck and breathing in his leather-cherry scent mixed with gin and pool water.

“Yeah… fuck, Cas, yeah, I’m good, just—”

He’s cut off by a moan as Castiel pulls out and thrusts back in, sending ripples of pleasure through him.

It’s hot, and wet, and so goddamn tight Castiel could weep as he finds a rhythm, pounding Dean’s ass faster and harder, just to hear him get louder.

And, _fuck_ , does Dean get _loud_.

“Harder, Cas— _harder_. _Shit_!” Castiel does as he’s told, hooking his arms under Dean’s knees and hoisting him up as he pounds his ass.

He finds the right angle after a few tries, and then Dean is _screaming_ as the headboard slams against the wall, and Castiel’s _sure_ everyone on their floor can hear them.

The pressure builds inside Castiel until he’s so close he can’t think straight. He folds Dean’s knees up higher, pressing their chests close and kissing him for all he’s worth. He bites down on Dean’s bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth as his rhythm falters—hips stuttering and breaths panting until they’re both coming.

Dean shouts, his lip trapped by Castiel’s teeth, and Castiel moans long and low, rocking his hips and milking every last drop of his orgasm until Dean’s trembling—whimpering and moaning.

He’s an incoherent, blissed-out mess, and Castiel smiles, more than a little proud, as he pulls out.

He takes the condom off, tying a knot in the end before snatching up his own swim trunks and cleaning off Dean’s come-speared stomach and chest.

Dean hisses when the cold cloth touches his skin, squirming away from it, but Castiel’s done quick, rolling his eyes as he flops down beside Dean, meeting his gaze in the dark.

Neither of them speaks—they don’t need words to say what needs to be said—as they smile at each other through the inch or so between them.

Sure, Castiel worries about what will come—what happens when Dean can’t find a job here and needs to move—but for now, he holds him close, loving him out loud.

“Turn it _off_ ,” Dean whines, slapping at his hip as Castiel groans, rolling away from the noise. His head hurts something awful and his mouth feels like he’s eaten a handful of cotton balls. Apparently, Dean’s not much better.

“It’s _your_ phone,” he snaps, glaring at Dean through his good eye. “ _Answer it_.”

Dean huffs but snatches his phone off the nightstand. “Hello?” he grunts, closing his eyes as he listens to whoever’s on the other end. “Yeah, this is Dean.” His eyes snap open, meeting Castiel’s across the space.

“What? What is it?”

“An interview?” He listens for a few more seconds as Castiel’s heart skips in his chest. “Wait, a _job_? That’s awesome!”

Castiel’s stomach twists, and not from the alcohol. His eyebrows knit together as he waits for the other shoe to drop.

“Great, Yeah, that’s great. Okay, talk soon. Bye.” He hangs up, twisting around to toss his phone aside before meeting Castiel’s eyes when he settles back down. “I got it, Cas.”

“Which one?” That’s the only thing running through his brain. _Which_ job? How _far_?

“The one here—down by the old mill. _I_ _got it_ , Cas.” His excitement is palpable and Castiel’s heart races for a whole new reason now.

“Stay here,” he whispers, taking Dean’s hands in his. “Stay here—live _here_. With me.” He searches Dean’s face, knowing full well that he’s laying it all out there, but he just doesn’t _care_.

Dean hesitates for a moment. “You sure? I’m a pain in the ass, though.”

“Yeah, you fucking are, and I _love_ you.” He scoots closer, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist and holding him close. “So, stay here.”

Dean searches his face, looking for any sign of doubt, he’s sure, but when he finds none, a soft smile lights up his expression.

“Okay,” he whispers, nodding as he leans closer—so close their noses brush. “Okay, but only if the eyepatches can stay.”

Castiel laughs, giddy with happiness. “You’re so fucking weird.”

Dean shrugs. “You love me.”

He does—he so fucking does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! My quarantine fic, written while I'm self-quarantined!
> 
> This was fun, and I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it.
> 
> Let me know in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter at [allmystars_i](https://twitter.com/allmystars_i)  
> ~  
> Follow me on Tumblr at [allmystars-i](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/allmystars-i)  
> ~  
> Follow me on Instagram @allmystars_i


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